


Dodgeball! A True Underwolf Story

by daleked



Series: Brief Lives: Alternate Universes [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Derek is hot in a business suit, Multi, THEY PLAY DODGEBALL
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-05
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 16:58:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/529508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daleked/pseuds/daleked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://breenwolf.tumblr.com/post/31448533166/dodgeball-a-true-underdog-story-stiles-stilinski">Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story AU</a>. </p>
<p>Stiles Stilinski owns Average Joe’s gym— but, despite its loyal regulars, it’s not doing well financially. across the street, Globo-gym is flourishing. Globo-gym is owned by the gorgeous and powerful Peter Hale, who is looking to buy Stiles’s property out from under him so Globo-gym can expand expand. Attorney Derek Hale (who is gorgeous if you overlook his crazy love of all things wolves) is sent to help sort out the financial history of Average Joe’s to help Stiles prepare for the buy out. Derek tells Stiles that he has thirty days to raise $50,000 to cover the mortgage or else Globo-gym will successfully take over average joe’s.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [breenwolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/breenwolf/gifts).



> I promised [Bree](http://breenwolf.tumblr.com) this ages ago. And am just getting started on it. Mostly, though, I'm writing this because I want Chris Argent to say things like "ah, I love the smell of queef in the morning". Bree, I adore you and your writing and your tumblr. Here's proof of my love.

Stiles wakes up to Peter Hale's ugly mug on his television showing off the inside of Globo Gym.

"We're better than you, and we know it!" Stiles imitates, and switches the television off. He curses a little and pushes his alarm clock off the coffee table till it lands on the floor with a loud crash. He pokes at the phone with a toe before he gets up properly, managing to hit the voicemail messages on his third and final toe-twitch. Bingo. Stiles checks the inside of his fridge for perishables and sees only mouldy tomatoes, so fuck you, electricity bill. He goes about his morning routine while some teenager drones on in voicemail about the porn DVDs he owes them, and fuck that too. Stiles wants to keep Silence of the Femmes II right where it is: in his DVD player. Stiles showers thoroughly, too, since the company will be cutting off his water and electricity later this afternoon. One last shower to commemorate having running water and all that. Then it's time to go to work, so he does.

"Come on, baby," he murmurs lovingly to his Jeep. It rumbles to life and he grins, getting in.

It's going to be a good day.

Stiles waves to the guys helping push his car to his gym, shouting encouragements. There's something his old pa used to say. something about how a man can be measured by how hard he pushes a car, he tells them, and by that measure, they are all amazing and they're getting free thirty-day passes to Average Joe's. He receives vague grunts in response, and they end up in front of his gym. He gestures at them before they finally leave, some of them grumbling about how rundown his gym is. It's in a nice building, really, Stiles thinks as he walks in. Like a quaint thing.

"Yo, Jackson, working out?" He greets as he pushes past the front few equipments. Jackson makes a pleased noise, acknowledging Stiles in the mirror as he flexes his arm in front of it, eyes snapping back to his muscles. He's about to check on the state of towels before he hears a choking noise and rushes in the direction of the cable pulley machine, where Scott is getting stranged by himself.

"Dude!" Stiles says, untangling him. "You're like a Chinese puzzle, man. You gotta chill on these things, alright?"

"Hey, man," Scott replies half-heartedly. "But I gotta get fit. You gotta be fit if you wanna be a cheerleader and be cool." Stiles is sure his eyebrows couldn't go up any higher on his forehead if he tried. Scott is tugging on the handle now, trying to work out. There are sweat stains at his chest and his armpits spreading wider with every second, and if Stiles is being completely honest, the kid smells like onions.

"Cheerleader? You want to be a cheerleader to be cool?" Scott's face brightens a little.

"Yeah, why?"

"Nothing, man. Just that high school's changed a bit since I left." Scott scratches the back of his neck and blushes, ducking his head.

"It's about a girl," he mumbles. "Allison. She's the head cheerleader, and I want to join, y'know. To um. To woo her."

The next fifteen minutes passes in a haze of teenage mortification where Scott talks about the horror of carrying the fattest kid in school, Greenberg, and having his face smashed up against Greenberg's bare ass. Stiles is drowning in secondhand embarrassment by this time, and is thankful when the horror ends. They stay silent for a moment contemplating an existence where one's face is pressed up a pimply butt and simultaneously shudder in disgust.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing about people in a gym instead of going to the gym! A fanfiction writer's dilemma. Coming to a fic archive near you. No, but seriously, though.

"Anyway, don't worry about all this getting fit and getting the girl stuff, you know? It'll work out someday." Stiles pats Scott on the back and wanders off in the direction of his office, shouting encouragements to various gym members. He gets accosted by Erica on his way and squawks when she presses her nails to his throat. His legs kick out feebly and he wishes that she weren't so strong. It should be detriment to his manliness, yeah, but they used to work out together and she could out-bench press half the gym members. Stiles doesn't know what this says about either her or the people that patronise his gym.

"Who's there?" She snarls. He chokes a little and struggles. "Me, me! Erica! Stiles!" She releases him immediately and looks apologetic, scratching the back of her neck. She's not in gym clothes, as usual- just skintight pants and a tight shirt and a bright smile.

"Oh, hey. Sorry about that. I'm practicing my martial arts skills. You know." Stiles rubs his throat and grins.

"Ninja, right?" Her face brightens up and she nods fervently, hands ghosting over the daggers tucked into her waistband. "Yeah, I am. And, well, this is about the gym membership. i was wondering if, you know, I could hold off a little..."

"Oh! No problem. Seriously. Just pay anytime you like. A couple of bucks here and there, y'know, keep training. You're my friend." Erica grins at that. "Yeah, I'll pay you back when I get money." They part ways after a little more bantering and Stiles finally gets to his office, turning the knob and noting that the paint is flaking off at about eye level. Having a gym requires a whole lot of upkeep, man.

Okay, whoa. Happy birthday to him! He takes in the sight. Someone is in the spare chair, head bowed over a clipboard. A solidly built figure tucked neatly into a pressed suit and a hint of a five o'clock shadow, and... Intense eyebrows. Stiles can't really see them from the side profile, but they already look menacing. His dick stirs a little in his pants because, come on. Stiles likey.

"It's not my birthday, but early presents are always good." The man stands up immediately, tucking glasses into his pocket. They're the same height but Stiles gets the feeling that most people would miss out on that because of his presence. He looms and broods along with the best of Victorian heroes.

"Hello. I'm Derek Hale from Hawthorne Stone." They shake hands and stare at each other.

"Um..."

"Your bank," Derek says, lips pressed into a thin line.

"Well, you're very built for a banker," Stiles says before his brain can catch up with his mouth. Derek raises an eyebrow and looks down at his clipboard.

"I'm not really a banker. I'm a lawyer." Stiles leans against the bookshelf and strives for casual, because that's what he's good at. Being casual. Hell to the yeah. A book falls off the shelf, but he pretends that he totally intended for that to happen. On purpose.

"Oh. What kind of law, then, hot stuff?"

"Sexual harassment. There is a very radical gender subversion these days," Derek says, and pats a folder in his arms. "But I also do real estate and tax law, which is why I'm standing in your grimy little office at nine thirty in the morning."

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to know what you thought of this.


End file.
